Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  Jason clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

  I walked over to the packed boxes. I could just make out a glossy sheen beneath the material. Looked very much like the furniture in the waiting room. I wandered back to where Jason stood, lost in thought.

  “You know a guy by the name of Rafe Ramirez?” I asked, watching his face.

  He looked away and walked over to a pile of discarded casket packaging. He mumbled, “Maybe. Sounds familiar.”

  I couldn’t swear to it, but I thought I’d just seen a nerve touched. I couldn’t contain myself. “He was here, wasn’t he? That’s why your watchdog, Makasquooshy put us off!”

  Jason shuffled his feet a little. “No. No, of course not. I was just busy.”

  Yeah right. I took a different route.

  “Okay, well, I guess we’d better go. SLPD is still looking into this place, though. You’d better hope all of the pre-arranged funerals you’ve been booking are all really pre-arranged, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I hear tell if you put a body in one of them fancy boxes, you better plan on burying it or the Feds will get real nasty toward you,” Dwayne added.

  I stared at him. Where did he get all his information?

  Jason shrugged as if this was old news, and we followed him back to the office. I could almost feel the fear emanating from him and was about to plead with him to give Rafe up, when he stopped suddenly in the doorway to his office.

  I totally rear-ended him.

  “Oof! What the hell?”

  Dwayne, taller than both of us, looked over our heads at what Jason saw. Apparently someone had decided to make a point to Jason Scott by spearing the single DVD taken from the stack with a very dangerous looking sword that stood straight up. I wondered if the tip had gone all the way through to the wood.

  “Guess someone don’t like Video Angels’ work,” Dwayne surmised, glaring at the broken pieces.

  My heart began to pound.

  Maybe the point wasn’t for Jason Scott.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh, my God.”

  I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but when it got down to it, this kind of thing made my blood run cold.

  “Don’t call the cops,” Scott begged. “I’m dealing with it. It’s someone who used to work for me as a gravedigger. He comes by once in a while to remind me of a debt he thinks I owe.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  He stuck his finger in his ear and looked like he was in pain. When he looked at me, I knew. It was like a beam of light shining through a dark cloud.

  “Rafe.” The word came out like a verbal breath.

  “What’s that?” Dwayne asked, as he pushed me in the back and sent us all into the middle of the office floor.

  Jason righted himself and looked at his feet. “Yeah, it’s Ramirez. But please, you can’t tell anyone. He knows about something and he can ruin me if it gets to the right people.”

  “Like what?” I asked. “How or why you’ve lost fancy imported caskets maybe?”

  Scott’s face reddened. “An indiscretion of a private matter.”

  Dwayne chuckled. “Let me guess. You got caught with your drawers down?”

  I threw my arm wide. “What about this? Thank God it was the first night’s shoot and just a copy. There wasn’t very much on it anyone cared about, truthfully. This is some pretty serious business,” I told Jason. “I think I have to call Sal now. The last thing I heard, Rafe was in lock-up. Now he’s out and right back to his nasty self.”

  Jason swiftly moved to the door and shut it, gathering Dwayne and me into a huddle. “Don’t do that. This’ll kill my wife.” His voice hushed as though he were afraid someone would hear.

  “And your wife and her family are behind your wealth, I take it? If she finds out, you’re ruined?”

  He tilted his head back, his eyes closed for a moment before nodding.

  Dwayne frowned. “It’s blackmail, man. How long you gonna let that ass take your money for some one-night fling?”

  “It’s complicated,” Jason added. “Just, please, give me some time to get him off my back. He needs money. It’s just money.” His voice faded.

  Silence filled the room.

  “Does any of this have anything to do with the casket heist?” I asked finally. “How about Shelly? Do you know who killed her? Did she learn something about those caskets and that’s why she’s dead?”

  Jason moved away and stood looking at his desk and the sword sticking up in the air like a finger pointing. “This is not what you think. I can’t tell you anymore. You guys better just go.”

  “Jason, if he has anything to do with this business,” I waved behind me where we had been in the storage area, “you have to tell us. Or tell Sal or the cops—or damn, tell somebody. People are dying!”

  He whirled around, eyes darting from me to Dwayne and back. “You don’t understand. I can’t. This is bigger than all of us. Now go. Go on and please just keep this quiet. If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it. And if the wrong people find out, I’ll be too dead to deny anything. Jesus, just go.”

  He turned back to his desk and yanked on the sword, sending pieces of DVD flying all over.

  We opened the door and headed down the hall, too shocked to do anything else. Theo was nowhere to be found and I had an eerie feeling that he was hiding, watching us.

  “Wonder who’s got a Samurai sword?” Dwayne asked, pausing to touch the bonsai plant.

  “Samurai sword? How’d you know that?” I asked, then thinking better of it, added, “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Come on and don’t touch anything. This place creeps me out.”

  “I thought you were seeing a doctor about that?”

  “Not enough doctors in the world to fix this ailment,” I told him, glancing down the hallway to visiting rooms and deathly quiet.

  Once we were in the car and headed toward Greenman Road, Dwayne exhaled loudly and asked, “What now? It’s obvious something is rotten in the buryin’ business.”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Uh oh. That means trouble.”

  I kept my eyes on the road. “Your cousin Clareta still work for the DMV?”

  “Yeah why?”

  “I need addresses.”

  “For who? You’ve already played Snoopy at Rafe’s house. Who else you wanna sneak around?”

  “Jason and his new buddy, Theo.”

  “Yeah, that dude is plain old weird. He tried to keep us from seein’ Jason. And I think that sword is his. Oriental people keep that stuff around like Southerners keep hand-made quilts. Rafe wouldn’t even bother. He’d just pull out a nine. I’ve seen him.”

  That was not a comfort, I wanted to say, but refrained.

  He pulled out his cell phone and tapped some digits. Soon he was gabbing away with his cousin. She was just about to get off work.

  “Go out there and find some numbers for me, baby. Yeah, you know that shit. Jason Scott, yeah, gonna be a South Lake number, and some dude new to this country, I think. Well, maybe not, but his name is Theo Makamushi. Mac. Mac, like as in mac and cheese. Yeah. Okay then. Later.”

  “You really should have followed through with those private investigations classes. You missed your calling,” I said.

  He dropped the phone into my cup holder and smiled at me. “Who’s your daddy?”

  While we waited, I pulled into a convenience store not far from the police station. I needed gas for Betsy and was having a terrible craving for potato logs, and Dooley’s Store had the best. I went inside to pay for the gas and placed my order while I waited on my change. The bored-looking cashier girl scooped them out from under the heating lamp and dropped them into a shallow paper boat.

  I thanked her, took the salt shaker from the counter, and doused them good. Then I hauled the whole works out to the car, small packets of ketchup stuffed into my pockets.

  Dwayne was on the phone. “Clare baby, you are da bomb!”

  He hung
up and handed a piece of paper to me. Two addresses were on it. I handed him the boat of logs.

  “Damn, girl, you’re all right!”

  “Don’t you dare eat all those logs! I ordered them for me.” I placed the paper on the console and shoved my purse beside his leg on the passenger floor. He snatched a log while I got situated with my seat belt.

  “Yum.”

  “Gimme.” I took one and heat-tested it with my tongue. It was hot. I blew on it and picked up the paper. Jason’s address was written first, Makamushi’s last.

  “Over on Krest?” I asked.

  “Yeah, must be in Down Under Subdivision.”

  I thought hard. That was across Greenman from my aunts’ neighborhood. “Okay. We can go there first, then we will have to get some directions. I don’t know where this Theo guy lives. Can you pull it up on your cell phone?”

  He complied. I tore open a ketchup packet with my teeth. “Technology is so awesome. I wish it wasn’t so expensive though.”

  “Yeah, Katie Henderson’s always getting the best stuff. I hear she just bought a Harley,” Dwayne said.

  I swiveled around. “She didn’t.”

  “Oh yeah, she did, girl. Yoshi told me she stopped by to show us but we were out.”

  I fell silent. What the hell? A Harley? Katie would end up dead on a motorcycle. Why didn’t she talk to me first? Then I realized the answer to my own question. She had tried to talk to me. I was busy.

  Once the logs were gone, we drove straight down Greenman and turned at the corner of Krest Road. I drove slowly and Dwayne looked at numbers. All the houses were new and brick, designed to be for the up-and-coming.

  Scott’s house was a blush-red brick two-story with a garage and cultured yard. The bird- bath out front was an expensive piece of art, giving the impression that this neighborhood was one where you expected the Green Grass people to come weekly during the growing season to do all the upkeep. The inhabitants were probably too wealthy or too busy making money to do any yard work.

  I couldn’t tell from the street if anyone was at home, but we targeted the location for a night-time visit. Dwayne and I had done a few B&Es when trying to find my former boyfriend’s murderer. We’d battled slobbering dogs, gun-toting home owners, and crazy Chinese neighbors. This place was a piece of cake.

  “So?” Dwayne asked as we sat looking at the house.

  “I think I want to talk to Mrs. Scott.”

  “Oh? And what you gonna say?”

  “How about, did you know your husband was having an affair?”

  “No, you ain’t either! That woman will snatch you bald-headed.”

  I glared at him and climbed out of the car. He stuck his lower lip out and crossed his arms as if to say he would be damned before rescuing me on this one.

  Walking up the winding concrete walkway, past the birdbath and up to the front door, I put on my best lost-in-the-neighborhood look. The door was one of those metal-and-glass ones, and I tapped three times, then paused to listen for someone coming. No answer.

  I squinted at the car as I walked slowly around the house on the garage side. Dwayne still sat inside. He had uncrossed his arms and watched me closely.

  There was no side entry to the house so I walked to the back door, which opened onto a small deck. Apparently, the wealth of the neighborhood was all in the interior, as the backyards were postage stamps.

  I knocked again. No answer. Since I was away from the nearest neighbors’ direct view, I took a chance and looked into the glass back door. Nice family room. Had a fireplace and a flat screen TV, comfy couch and chair. Just what a funeral director needed after a long day at the office.

  I looked into the window on the left side of the house, but it turned out to be a quaint bedroom with obviously no occupant. I strolled around to the front of the house and made out for the car.

  “Well, Nosy Rosy, did you see anything?” Dwayne asked as I seated myself.

  “No. Nothing at all. Strange. I would think the little wife would be home right now. And I don’t think they have kids.”

  “How come?”

  “No toys. No bikes, trikes, or Big Wheels. Maybe she’s already moved out? Which means maybe she knows something about his affairs. Which means his swearing us to secrecy is not to save his marriage.”

  He nodded. I knew he hated it when I presented a good bit of detective work and he wasn’t in on it.

  “You should have gone along,” I said, cranking over the engine. “You’d probably have some thoughts on this situation.”

  He didn’t speak to me all the way to the office. Not that we could speak over the loud rap music that he switched my radio dial to. Something about the song choice made me think he was mad at me.

  While at the office, I looked at my GPS to get a glimpse of where we were going next, since Dee was not communicating well.

  The humble abode of Theo Makamushi was in apartments. Go figure. Not the easiest thing in the world to do surveillance on, but not the hardest either, if you were close enough.

  Then, after giving my partner some fine chocolate candy I kept in reserve for his melt-downs, we drove to the westernmost edge of South Lake to the Calla Townhouses. They were not a gated community, but they did have covered parking, and storage rooms on each patio.

  We found number 9507 by driving slowly and looking at address numbers. Makamushi sported big containers on his back patio filled with plants and flowers, already set out for the spring. I bet he took them in faithfully every night.

  Not.

  Dwayne poked me in the shoulder. “You hearin’ me?”

  “No, what did you say?”

  “I said, wonder if he has roomies? We might be in for trouble tryin’ to break in with them in there.”

  “No. He won’t have roommates. He’s too antisocial.”

  “No way, girl. He’s good with design. He’s got sugar in his tank.”

  I laughed. “Just because he can whip that funeral place into shape does not mean he’s handy with decorating. I mean, even I could do that.”

  Dwayne’s mouth fell open.

  I explained, “Oh yeah, I could. Besides, I intend on watching his place, not breaking in on him. Even I’m not that crazy.”

  I went down a few buildings and turned around. “Are you going to go up and knock?” I asked him.

  “Shit naw. I’m injured. Who you expect to answer anyway? He’s probably still at the body farm.”

  “I’m counting on it,” I answered, glancing at the clock. It was only a little after five. “Okay, you get over here and drive. If I get into trouble, you better have Betsy running and ready to fly.”

  I climbed out and scampered over to his side, helped him out and followed him back to the driver’s side.

  “Better hope I don’t have to drive.”

  I ignored him. “If I don’t come back in ten minutes, call Sal.”

  “What you lookin’ for, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like going to a garage sale. You never know what you are after until you see it.”

  He nodded and I took off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I slid through the wooden gate of Theo’s patio and took a deep breath before strolling up to the glass patio doors. As is the case with some men with no modesty, no curtain was on the door. I guess he didn’t care that people from the street could see him sitting at his table eating his meals in his boxers or briefs. Heck, he might be Sir Commando for all I knew!

  At the same time, I was fully visible to him if he was within, as well. He would recognize me from the funeral home. I worked hard to come up with a reason to be there.

  None came to me.

  I stooped, averting my face, trying to decide what to do. No one came out. No one peered out. No one was at home. Relieved, I wandered around, peeking in the door. He had a nice oriental motif going on in there, complete with shiny lacquered furniture and bright-patterned fabrics. I could only see so much through the back patio door but no other wind
ows were on ground level, as the townhouse was a two-story.

  Regretfully, I jogged back to the car and switched places with Dwayne again. He was quiet as we headed back to his trailer. Just before we turned into the trailer park, he fished out his wallet, grunting and panting as he managed with one hand. Finally, he had it out and picked through it until he produced a key. He handed it to me.

  I glanced at him as I turned the car wheel. “What’s that?”

  “You’ve always known I had this. I used it to get into Rick Fine’s apartment that time. It’s a bump key.”

  “A what what?” I asked.

  “A bump key. Listen, it’s illegal as hell, but easy enough to make. I can make another one. But if you get caught with it, I do not know your ass. You understand?”

  I nodded and he dropped it into my purse. “Don’t know how you thought you was gonna manage to get in that dude’s place tonight. You ain’t as slick as you think you are. That key’ll at least help you a little. You gotta rap it in the lock and keep rappin’ on it until you get the tumblers worked up, so take a little hammer or screwdriver or something.”

  I smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Dee.”

  He held his hurt elbow. “Don’t thank me. I feel like a damn criminal.”

  I gazed at him a long moment before he got out. “Why do you have that, Dwayne?”

  He shrugged. “My Granny used to always lock me out.”

  I didn’t believe a word of that, but I didn’t say anything.

  He didn’t want to accompany me to visit with Carrie and her family and see the gift cards, so I took him home and went to my place to shower, eat, and change into different more comfortable clothes. Some sweats would definitely be in order.

  Once I had spent a respectable time under the steaming jets of my shower, used a good deal of warm-vanilla scented body wash, and wrapped my hair in a big thirsty towel, I slid my feet into soft terry cloth mules and padded to the kitchen for food. It was almost time for the evening news, and I wanted to see it for any leads on Bubba’s murder. Sal sure wouldn’t tell me.